Power Poetry, short writings


*Read trigger warning in full.

This writing piece discusses: suicide, rape, sexual assault, death, murder, systemic oppression, depression and anxiety symbolism and analogies. Read if you’re comfortable. If not, take care of your needs. This was written for my own release. Yours is allowed to be away from this post. Take care. You are awesome and amazingly lovely.

I keep seeing this number
Then I remember
That there is a lot
Out of my control.

If I try to force everything
And I mean everything
Into under my wing
It will fly out
From under me
And I may never see
Any of it again.

My floors are crumbling,
The glass of my windows
Are shattering
In time to the water
Bursting from the pipes.
I see flames flaring to life
At each corner
Of this space
I’ve tried to keep safe.

I cannot force the door
to stay upright.
I cannot put the water
Back where it came from.

I cannot remove
What is keeping the people
I love and care about
From reaching back out to me.

I cannot fix the system
That continually makes it
Near impossible
For me to live
A liveable life
That is worthy of me.

I cannot control
Who raped me,
Assaulted me,
Had beaten me,
Nearly killed me.

I cannot control
Who I like,
Who I love,
Who I fall in love with,
What they go through,
And if
Or when
They come back to me.

I cannot control
The amount of death
I was born out of
Nor the amount of death
I was born into
Then followed me
As my shadows.

I cannot control
that my mom died
In front of me,
Along with
The person I was
For her.

I cannot control
That that my dad
Was never really okay,
And never for the help he needed.
I was never meant to be
The sacrificial lamb
To keep him from
Terrorizing my extended family.
And I cannot change
What he’s done,
What my family never did
To protect me,
Or the consequences
Coming for all of them.

I cannot control
That I have been alone
For so long,
Too many times in my life.
That it has eroded my sanity,
Made me suicidal,
Making me want,
Then attempt,
To kill myself.

I cannot control
That I’ve had to be the one
To keep myself from
Ever completing an attempt
And kept myself alive,
When doctors, therapists,
Hospitals, family,
Friends, and so many others
Failed to be there for me.

I don’t think we ever have control
That’s what people don’t want to admit.

It’s affirming that not having control
Doesn’t automatically mean
Things will hurt us
I believe I most struggle with.

I may not be able
To control everything
That happens to me,
What people do
Or don’t do.

I may not always
Be able to control
What I do
One hundred percent
Of the time.

And it may be okay,
That those things are true.

Living your best life
Is overated.

Living a life
That is peaceful,
Where my needs are met,
And I am comfortable,
Can do fun things if I want to,
That’s for me.

It took seven tries
And six deaths
For me to be here.
I died one thousand times
And came back to life
One thousand more
To be the person I am now
Writing this.

There were many days
Of my not thinking
I would be here
And that people wouldn’t care
If I was gone.
I write this knowing that isn’t true.
Some take longer to tell you,
Some have a journey to take
Before they are ready to face
The infinity that is you
But it doesn’t make what they say
Any less genuine.
It doesn’t make what they feel towards you
Any less real and true

I will take care of myself.
I will be kind to myself.
I will be gentle with myself.
I will do what I can little by little.
Whatever I cannot control,
I will let those things sort themselves out.
And the people in my life,
Those I like,
Those I love,
The one I may have
Or will
Fall in love with,
Those I care for most deeply,
I trust they will find their way home.
First to themselves.
Then to me.
And by then,
My new home
Will be in much better shape
For new comfort and contentment.

Fiction, Short Fiction, short writings

My Nights Now

I’m sleeping, or at least I’m feeling myself fall asleep.

My head is clear on this warm, clear night, and the trees are whistling “goodnight” softly with their multicolored leaves for the summer. Crickets chirp previously on the grass floor adjacent to my black brick apartment building. And it reminds me of a home that for the first I don’t mind missing. A small smile graces my lips as I picture a sweet woman coming in to say goodnight to the child I was once was, proceeding to turn on three fans to help circulate the air, close the blinds so no one can see me (but I’d open them after she was gone), and lovingly talk sweet nothings to me before bed. Mama did have a way of making bedtime a special adventure before bed.

The smile on my face deepens in a lazy haze as I sense a familiar presence wrap around my exposed waist. The bony, semi-muscular arms settle just below my torpedos and pull me closer to someone who makes my body instantly relax beyond reason. A muffled voice asks something, I say yes, and then those hands begin tenderly stroking the softness of my belly. My unmarked flesh, lightning streaks of stretch marks, and the undersides of my breasts receive gentle touches that lull me further into slumber.

In my mind, the events of the day seem to threaten the peace I feel on the inside of my body. Crossing streets made of hot asphault that turned into dumb weights attached to my calves. My heart tightned at the thought of that catcaller whistling and screaming after my passing ass when crossing the street in front of his blue chevy truck. The woman who refused to respect my pronouns and gender me correctly, because she thinks my simply stating who I am and setting that standard of respect is against her “freedom of speech” honestly made me think some dark thoughts about her. The gears in my head were working overtime as anger, frustration, and anxiety rolled into my C-PTSD, causing my stomach to tie into an unbreakable knot. Reality, what was happening now, was becoming lost to me.

It was all slipping through my fingers so fast.

When my black cat Lucifer came up and began tickling my nose, I took that sensation as a means for climbing out of the rabbit hole. I focused intently on my cat’s slim tail running under my nostrils like the mustache it was trying to be. I then thought of my black bunny Judas Isariot sleeping the night away in their little nest of a bed. It brought a smile to my face thinking about the way their tiny nose would scrunch up at random moments making them the cutest thing on the fucking planet. The light pink of Judas’ little sniffer caused me to remininsce about that nice senior man walking past me on the sidewalk on the way to wherever life was taking me at that time of the day. He wore brown pants with suspenders laying on a cleanly pressed sky blue and white long-sleeved dressshirt. Walking much slower than me, he did not seem to be in a hurry. He only took in each moment as it came and seemed more grateful than the average person for it. I had smiled and waved at him, and he did it back, and man was it nice to know there are still kind souls out here who just can be decent to other folks.

I made it a game, to see how many good things right now could make me recall the small yet beautiful things of earlier. That little plant I have at the corner of the windsow sill behind my partner reminded me of the green of the countless trees I passed while walking down Evenant Avenue and then up Leeson Road, simply taking in all of the sights and sounds that graced past me in each moment. The birds that flew over my head as I walked besides houses older than me, my parents, and grandparents combined, the drivers who had a billion and one things to do but had to beep their way through the cluster fuck of traffic that happened around 5 pm each evening, and there was no forgetting the laughable amount of trash that I came across in the street, making me wish that there were more trash cans placed at various points on the sidewalks.

None of those things were perfect, but they were able to help me become grounded in the present moment again. They all showed me living a real life outside of my bedroom. There were assholes I faced with a middle finger and kept myself moving onward. Fellow passerbys being kind and compassionate, even if it was just a one-time hello being said, warmed my heart closer to peacefulness. Instead of reaching for the top of the rabbit hole, I helped the top come down to my level, feeling the knot unravel into a flow that wrapped compassionately around my whole self.

The bliss settled me into a calming blackness as I pressed a soft kiss to my joyfriend’s calloused palm and joined hands with sleep.

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Power Poetry, short writings

Short Writings No. 3

Image Description: Black text on white square block image reads a short writing/mini poem as follows below.

I feel safe under the trees.
They move in the gentle
Motion of the wind.
I know I can rest now.
I know that my body
Will not be exploited.
I know that my rest
Will not be politicized.
I can fantasize,
Anything in my dreams.
My inner child
And I are one.
I am free
In the wide landscape
Of slumber.


short writings

Short Writings No. 2

[Image Description: White text on black image reads poem as follows.]

That little girl

Who I sung my love song for

Deserves the best in everything

Is worth

The whole

Goddamn universe

I’d die for her

Fight armies for her

And is my only one

I love her so much

She is magic and so worthy

And I’m never letting her go.